” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. It would put the whole adventure on a broader and better footing; it seemed, indeed, almost the only possible way in which she might emerge from her rebellion with anything like success. “There’s morbid beauty,” said Ann Veronica. ’ So saying, she threw a meaning look over her shoulder at Lucilla, much to Gerald’s approval. Sheppard, bitterly. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. He had only to recall this fact (which he did in each crisis) to erect a barrier she could not go around or over. It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. Gerald exchanged a puzzled glance with his friend.
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